Have You Ever Wished For An Endless Night?
by KilmenyWalker
Summary: "In spite of myself, I do love you. Very much." I tell her in later years when she begs me to tell her what ultimately changed my mind. "That's always the way of things, isn't it?" she laughed. "I'd be afraid to see the state of the world if we all tried to love each other."
1. Chapter 1

If I'd had it my way, things wouldn't have played out differently. Only quicker. Lord knows I've been craving speed! The slow and soft romantic caresses are all well and fine, especially when coming from him, but having to wait so bloody long for them? No, I did not enjoy that.

But then, I'm young. Or that's the excuse he would give for my hurry. He doesn't notice how young, in fact, he is. He thinks that's gone forever. But I know better, always have, and now that he's finally letting me, I can show him too.

At first I was frightened by how much I loved him. Probably because I wasn't expecting it, and I like to be able to expect things. I know people think quite the opposite. _"Nymphadora Tonks"_ they say, _"she's as fickle as a breeze."_ They're wrong. My hair may be, but I'm not. You can't be, not in these times. You have to know where you stand, and keep your footing. So to be floored by this man, who is so different from anything I am and anything I've experienced, yet familiar in an instant and in all ways my compliment - I'm not surprised I shied away from it all at first.

I never did understand all that sentimentality. Oh, I wanted to. There was nothing I wanted more than to want all of that. But I didn't. The tethered feeling to another, the comfort to be found in their arms and their arms only. I never knew it, and thought for certain that I never would.

This was not a problem in my school days, when such attachments can hardly ever be real excusing the occasional soul mate. There was only really one time when it – shall we say, irked me?

It wasn't going to be my first night spent with a boy. And bugger, we all know it wasn't going to be the last. Not that I'm any sort of slag, mind you, but I wasn't as 'uptight' as some of these girls nowadays. This bloke was sore about his girlfriend shattering his heart, and we were friends – both in the same year at Hogwarts and both in the same house – those bonds tend to hold rather strongly. And I really wanted him to feel better, and I really needed my own needs fulfilled.

"Here," I said, morphing then and there. "Pretend I'm her." And I stood before him the image of his girlfriend, Patty Something-Or-Other. She moved to France shortly after leaving school. I haven't heard from or of her since. Can I already be forgetting her face?

But that night her face was my face, and he started out just fine with the arrangement. About halfway through though, he stopped, and he had tears going down his face. "I'm sorry," his voice came out gruffly. "You just – you smell like lilacs. You don't smell like her."

He ran out of my dormitory, luckily so quiet that it allowed my roommates to stay asleep, and avoided my eye every day since then. I told myself I didn't care, and I suppose that I didn't, really. But it was certainly annoying. Annoying that it happened to me, annoying that he was so gone on her. When I did the exact same thing a few years later I blushed the deepest crimson I ever have before! Yes, he's always taking me by surprise, without ever knowing it.

If I'm to be honest, I don't remember when I realized that I desired him. I only knew that every time he said goodnight after an Order meeting, I felt a sudden loss. Then, since he was going underground with the other werewolves, he abandoned his flat, and stayed with Sirius at Grimmauld Place when he was surfaced. I found reasons to linger there after the meetings. Sirius and I got on sportingly, like we both knew we would, but he was so smug, as though he knew the real reason I liked to stay behind.

One night, after about four months of this mess, he had stayed later for the company of Sirius, and I had stayed for his company. He left the kitchen to grab a book, and I followed him, Sirius winking to me when he saw. Buggar was always too observant, but as far as I know he had kept his mouth shut, so I forgave him.

"You know," I said to him, trying to be cheeky, but dammit if I didn't blush like all hell while I spoke to him. "Remus, I have strange urge to ask you to kiss me." His eyebrows raised. This was an admittedly strange way to begin a conversation. "But only if you want to." I added.

There was a moment I thought he would refuse me. Why wouldn't he, after all? I'd never mentioned my feelings, and though I admit I had felt his eyes on me at times, it could really have meant anything. And I decided I wouldn't care if he did refuse me. But as fast as that moment came, it passed, and I was suddenly pressed between him and the wall. I was dizzy with the scent of him, so bloody close to me, but _damn_ he was not close enough!

"I want to" he whispered gruffly, and then had his lips on mine. It was -

- over far too quickly.

Literally, a second could not have passed. His lips had touched mine, but Merlin, they'd barely grazed! Then there was a respectful two feet of distance between us, and the bloody fool was apologizing, and muttering something about a meeting, and seeing me later that week, and he was gone.

I hadn't moved. I couldn't move. Merlin, I was hardly sure any of it had happened at all. But the wall was cold on my back, so _that_ was real. And my arms had red prints where he'd held me before - did he know about that grip of his? - and they may even bruise later. _That_ was also real. My brain was still foggy with his raw, manly, and still warmly gentle scent. Please, gods, tell me _that_ was real! Last of all, though it'd been such a short and hardly sweet kiss, it couldn't be denied that my lips still tingled, that his had been there, and that, thank whoever would have accepted my thanks, _that_ most certainly had been real.

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Of course, I wouldn't let that be the end of it. And I know even he is grateful that I didn't. I can't be blamed for taking a bit longer than expected before my next move. If I'd never been shy before, I supposed I was making up for it now.

Even with my haste, I was still set aback after that kiss. I don't know what it was that I had expected to happen - maybe I never expected anything. If I had, it either would have been a kiss or a denial, so I think that having received both, I was accurately jarred for the time being.

Three torturous weeks went by where he was underground, and the Order meetings admittedly fell upon my deaf ears. Kingsley caught me up, though he kindly never questioned why. Then a month came where he was home, and Order meetings this round were filled with him refusing to make eye contact, but the bastard would still sit next to me, pass by my way, as though torturing me with an opportunity to catch his scent.

Sirius caught on to it, as the nosy prick always will!

After an Order meeting a week from Christmas, most of the usual lot had cleared out, and all the children were away on the upper levels. He was chatting with Sirius in the parlor. I happed to be walking by. "She's dead gone on you, you know," Sirius was telling him. Bugger, was I so terribly obvious? I barely know my own feelings for myself, and here the entire fucking Order is taking bets.

"She isn't," he tells Sirius gruffly. "Why on earth would she be?"

"You make it no easier on yourself, mate. Encouraging her like you do." _He was encouraging me? _

"I most certainly don't encourage her!" _Maybe not..._

"Come off it! Sitting so close, tryin' to smell her hair, sneaking peaks when you think there's no one looking."

"I'm just trying to peg that intoxicating scent," he mutters embarrassed. "If I can't figure it out with this blasted nose, what can it possibly be?"

"Lilac, Remus," Sirius says. "Tonks has always smelt like that, her mum was telling me, ever since she was a toddler. Knocked over her mum's potions cabinet mixed about with her perfumes. She has to cover it up with stronger scents when she has to morph for a mission, but most days its just a soft, lilac breeze when she moves."

"Lilac," he sighs. "And something else, delicate, feminine."

"Maybe it's want, for you." Sirius teases vulgarly.

"She wants me as much as I could want Kreature" he snaps.

"Oi, stay away from the damned elf in that case, Remus, because you must want him pretty bad." they both laugh, though Sirius's is much heartier. "Tonks," he adds, "she isn't a bad egg for all that clumsy."

"I don't doubt it."

"Sharp as a tack!" Sirius continues. _I'll have to thank him for this, if it's doing any good_. "And I saw her natural form when she got caught in a drunken dare once."

"She must be pretty, I have no doubt."

"Lovely, mate," Sirius says in a bout of sincerity for once. My cousinly affection had never been so warm. With a trace of wisened laughter in his voice, he asks him, "What are you afraid of?"

And here was where my luck ran out. I admit that I had been worried how long I could hide there, trying to learn all I could about this darling, frustrating man. I'm still not sure how I managed to fall over. I think I had tried to lean closer to the door to hear better, but in any event I hit my head on the door, and found myself on my bum a moment later.

I tried to stand quietly, though I heard them rustling and moving towards the door. I morphed before I even thought about it.

"Molly?" he said when he opened he door, for of course _he_ had to open the door. And I was surprised, until I saw that my hands had changed into the plump working hands of our mother-to-all. Damn my panic. Anyone else would've just apparated. Well, anyone else wouldn't have even fallen over...

"Wotcher, Remus." I mumbled out. Dammit! Am I a fucking auror or not? His eyebrow rose, puzzled, and I tried to recover. "This 'lingo' of the youth floating about, I don't much care for it, you see."

"Indeed," he said, unconvinced, with laughter in his smoky eyes.

"If I may," I was undeservedly bold; all I'd done so far is bugger up any chance I had of him taking me seriously. "I couldn't help but overhear you fellows, about a certain young lady you were discussing," I gave what I hoped to be a perfect imitation of Molly's knowing smile.

"Molly Weasley!" he exclaimed scandalized. "I never took you for one to eavesdrop."

"Now, now, you can't be accusing me of dropping any eaves, Remus, I'm only looking out is all. And it sounds like you're torn up inside, dear."

"Is there anything new about that?"

"There is with the turmoil being over a girl, Remus. A lovely girl, for all of that." I tried quirking my eyebrow. "And Sirius is quite right, dear, the whole house and ruddy Order can see she's mad for you. Just about as mad as you are for her, eh?"

He laughed. "Molly, perhaps the middle of a war is no place for you to be playing matchmaker." he held out for my hand when I stumbled as I always bloody do over that umbrella stand. But he got too close. "Lilacs?"

"Oh, lilacs?" I laughed airily. "spent the morning in my garden - that scent'll linger, it will."

"In December?"

"Well, am I a witch of aren't I, Remus? You think I'll allow something like the frost to send off my garden?" he was not convinced. There was no fooling him, _damn_ him! He'd known right from the off. "I had best be going. Any messages for Arthur while I'm out?"

"Only that we wish him a speedy recovery." His smile was too bloody knowing! But I loved him being that close. "The usual."

"Of course." Hoping it would have just enough Molly in it to let it slide, I reached up and touched his face. Why couldn't this be my daily rite? "Thank you, dear" I said. "Goodnight, Remus." And I left out the front door.

I waited what I hoped was a safe five minutes until I snuck impressively silent into the doorway and apparated into one of the many spare bedrooms upstairs. I morphed back to the heart-face, pink-haired shaped they all knew of late to be me, and crashed onto the bed, trying to forget the world, but dammit if the face of my world didn't keep appearing behind my lids.

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When an hour had passed with that mess, I decided I was too restless to keep lying there. I wished, possibly for the first time, that I had a closer girl friend. I was always one of the boys, but you can't go to boys with this sort of thing. Molly and I had a strange comradeship, but I would only be reminded of my earlier foolishness if I went to talk with her. There were the girls upstairs? They were young, but the war threw them into a maturity they wore well. Besides, we did get on rather well. And my options had grown thin; if I didn't find someone to confide in, I may do something stupid. Like find him, and make him shag me mad 'til morning.

Yes, it would be better to talk to the girls.

And so, feeling silly for neither the first or last time that night, I sought out Ginny and Hermione. They'd already left Harry and Ron behind for the night, so I knocked on their door, and asked timidly when Ginny answered, "Care for a chat, girls?"

They were surprised, but kind, and we sat together on the floor by the fire, leaning against the bed posts. Merlin, but they were a fine pair of girls! We were silent for a while. But it was a nice silence.

"I'm not sure who else I could've talked to," I tried beginning. "I'm of that sad, strange, and scarce generation. Just old enough to know some of the terrors from the first round of war, so many of the families left, or simply didn't survive the war. My seventh year at Hogwarts boasted the lowers numbers these last three centuries - myself and two other girls, for Hufflepuff. The other houses just as skimpy. So I don't have a footing to call my own, plus my own unavailability to bond with my sex. I've never had just a gab. I don't know how, but tonight, girls, I have a hankering for one."

"I don't know that we're the girls for a gab," Hermione said.

"In that case, we won't tell if we do it wrong." They smiled. "I am feminine enough to guess the three of us here have something in common." They wouldn't guess. "A certain frustration with the wanker lucky enough to have caught our attention." And here they both blushed and denied things furiously.

"I'm seeing Michael Corner." Ginny insisted. "Ravenclaw."

"And it's working, by the way," I offer laughing, "Getting Harry's attention." she blushed deeper and tried stammering a denial. "Oh, he doesn't know it's happening, and it may take another boyfriend or two before he notices how painful it is not to have you around, but he watches you closer than ever, and his eyes are hungry."

"He's only had eyes for Cho. Kissed her right before we came here," Ginny argued still, and Hermione looked a bit sorry she had told Ginny that.

"And I'm sure you kissed your Ravenclaw all the same." I argued back. "and you, Hermione." I turned to her, "That Ronald Weasley is more taken with you everyday, though he'd die before he'd say so."

"Because he's ashamed?"

"Tut, no!" Here I did laugh at her, though I didn't mean it unkindly. "I'm not sure why between afraid you'd reject him or afraid he doesn't deserve you, but he's noble enough by his fiber to have a grand reason like that."

"So I should be patient?"

"See, I'm not one for advice like that, because virtue though it is, I hate patience. I don't have an ounce of it! More than anything, I'd love to tell you to march up to your men and have a good snog out. But a great many terrible things may happen, and I'd hate to be the blame for that. Gin, for example, you say Harry's set his cap for this Cho, so snogging him now would set you back. But once he's run his course with her, and you've played your cards, he'll see you sitting there one night, and he'll realize that what he has felt all this while when you were near him is that feeling we're all supposedly searching our lifetimes for."

"So that's why we're here gabbing?" Hermione laughed. "To help you exercise your own patience?"

"Too right," I admit. "Brightest witch of your age," and a wink slips out.

"Tonks," Ginny asks, "This all sounds like grand advice and everything. But it's rather too serious for you - sounds like something you'd usually call bosh."

"Oi, I know all too well!" I tell her. "Bloody wanker makes me feel serious. Makes me want to stop and reflect. Before I just buzzed about, but now I listen more, and it's probably a change for the better, but I don't think vulgar Tonks is all through yet."

"Now, you were never vulgar! Just... lively?" Ginny assured me. "Lupin likes when you're around."

"He looks less weary, more assured." Hermione added. "And he's far more likely to smile or laugh." I thank them for that. I feel better knowing at least that this - whatever it is - is not all in my head.

"Am I so obvious as everyone makes it sound?" I asked them quietly.

They looked as though they might've laughed, but caught it in time. "We can see it because we like to watch the changes you two make without seeing it." Ginny answered. "Mum certainly knows, and Sirius must know."

"Dumbledore likely knows too," Hermione laughed, and I'm not sure if she's joking, because it's probably true.

"Everyone would know if they thought about it for a moment, but I suppose there's just far too much else going on."

"I suppose this was all too dreary for a 'gab'. Morality and assurance. But I think for being our first go, it really went rather well."

I think I remember them agreeing with me. What I remember for sure and certain is having decided I _must_ speak to him that night.

For all that had gone on, it wasn't all too late yet, not even past ten. I worked late the next day, and saw no reason why I should put this encounter off any longer. He would be going back underground soon. Was the full moon in three days, or four? I had made it a point to know of late when it would be, but the blasted night had put me out of sorts.

I had said goodnight to Hermione and Ginny, and thanked them, and damn if I didn't see twinkles in their eyes as though they knew just what I was up to.

I passed Sirius in the hall, him just coming down from visiting Buckbeak. Him and that bloody beast...

"Tonks! Here late," he said.

"Been chatting with the girls." I told him. "Girl stuff and all."

"Oh!" he chuckled. "Girl stuff about boy stuff?"

"Search me, Sirius, it may have been about hair care potions for all you know," ah, but he knew better. Could he see through everyone like this, or just me? For Merlin, it was annoying.

"I was having a chat myself earlier, as a matter of fact."

"You don't say?"

"Boy stuff about girl stuff."

"Any new findings?"

"Your scent is intoxicating." he laughed. "But then, you knew that."

I couldn't think of anything to say to him. So I said nothing. "You're going to go talk to him?" he asked under my blush.

"Bollocks, I want to!"

"Know what you're going to say?"

"Not a bloody clue." I admit, thankful he didn't seem to be trying to stop me.

"Probably for the better," he told me. "You may've gotten tongue tied trying to make sure you said everything. Just remember," he put his hands on my shoulders, "You are part of the noble and most ancient House of Black," he grimaced wickedly. "But you are also a Tonks," he winked. "And that'll be your saving grace."

Yeah, Sirius was more than worth keeping around.

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I stood in front of his door longer than I'm even now sure of. I guess that then I was mostly afraid of the fact that I didn't know what to expect. What did I even want? Him? If I wanted that, _that_ sentiment - love? - and I wasn't bloody certain if did, I was certain I would want it with him. Now? Yes, please now. I hate waiting. _Right_ now? Sure!

I opened the door, not even thinking perhaps that I ought to knock. But he wasn't even in bed; he was sitting in an armchair by the window, reading. It was such a darling scene, with the snow swirling in the window behind him, the shadows blurring his scars, and for a moment he looks so sad I want to cry. But he looks up from his volume, sees me, and smiles. There isn't a trace of that sadness.

His smile stops me in my tracks, and I forget all my plan before I remember that there was no plan at all.

"Nymphadora," he said, and I don't even remember if it annoyed me or not. "You're here rather late."

I don't say a word. I don't move.

He stood and set down the book. "Something I can help you with?"

"Good reading?" I ask, finding my tongue, but not my sense.

"Very good," he says with a laugh. "_A Night Amongst Mortals_, haven't read it since my school days."

"What's it about?"

"Just a wizard classic: a man lives with muggles, learns from their folly. Just now, John's fallen for a muggle who's terribly close to finding him out."

"How's it end?"

"Ah, I can't tell you that!" he cries, but I beg him softly. "Happily," is all he says. Noticing I've stood too all this while, he gestures for me to his chair, while he sits at the edge of his bed.

"Remus," I ask him, "We are friends, aren't we?"

"Of course," he answers.

"I like being around you." Damn, was I really this awkward, you may be wondering? I'm sorry to say I certainly was.

"Well, me too. You're a lot of fun," he tells me. "We need fun nowadays, and you're a fair site less fatalistic than some of the others." He paused for a moment, likely considering just what can of worms he may be opening with this talk. "Is there something bothering you lately?"

"Buggar, yes, Remus, there is." Goodbye, remaining semblance of patience. I stood up, and got so close to him that my head was buzzing. "You're frustrating me to no end, Remus, and I don't rightly understand why. I like when I can hear you laugh. It feels like some sort of present. And I like having you close, even if for some reason you won't look directly at me. I like how focused you always are. I like how focused you make me want to be. I like how calmly you explain things; like you're always teaching. I like your face and your shoulders and your graying hair." I took a breath. "But I don't like when you have to leave us for so long, or when you look so ashamed about your condition, or when you kissed me then pulled away so quickly." I flung my arms around his neck, and kissed him proper.

It was as our first kiss ought to have been. Heated and passionate, but lingering. His arms were strong and certain around my waist, pulling me closer. Our tongues danced and my fingers tugged at his amber locks. Merlin, it should've gone on forever.

He pulled away for a moment, and leaned his forehead against mine. But his hold hadn't let up any. "Nymphadora-" he began.

"-It's just that," I cut him off, "the way that I feel when you're around, is so much better than the way that I feel when you aren't." My breath was ragged.


	2. Chapter 2

She had me from that first meeting, that first moment, though she'd never suspect it. But it was no less true, I was entranced by that little pink-haired minx.

And I would've done or been anything for her, anything at all that she wanted. Anything, except subjecting her to a life with me. And that, unfortunately, turned out to be all that she wanted, and admittedly became what I gave to her, though I lasted as long as my resolve could bear, and that lasted longer than I once gave it credit for.

But could I be blamed for loving her? No, only for allowing her to love me in return. People tear their hearts out daily over the aguish to be found in unrequited love. Me? I would have preferred it for her sake. My, but that would have been romantic - me pining after the prefect, youthful witch of cheek and spirit, watching her affection drift to a man her age, her condition, who could provide for her. Seeing their romance unfold. Smiling at their wedding. Pretending that it was mine. Pretending only, mind you. Asking for a dance and if I may kiss the bride. Holding her waist with unexplained pride, and dreaming of the short instant my lips lingered on her cheek, for it would be the only time I would ever be so near to her. And it would all be friendship on her part. She would never dream of the torment my soul felt in not having her as mine, for she would never have need to feel such pain with this dream man. No broken heart, no broken family, no broken lover. She would get the life of grandeur as only she can deserve, and I get the dream of her. Which would then be far more than I deserved. I would get to bear the burden of our love, so that she would never have to.

These scenes happen daily. For those who desire desperately the ending I received instead.

I should have known such would be the way.

I think I did know.

I think I knew from the very first time we met.

There was a safe twenty minutes yet before the night's Order meeting. She came through the door like a whirlwind, her pink hair ruffled from the wind outside, and tripping, for the historically first time, over that troll leg umbrella stand. She apologized, then stood safely against the wall while everyone returned to their paired off conversations. I tried to - I had been discussing with Dedalus some problem he'd been having with Kneazle breeding, the same sort of problem that pops up often enough. But all my focus was on this girl, who smelt as though she'd brought a spring breeze with her to let loose on the room, despite it being as wet as October outside.

"Arthur may have more to say on the matter," I offered by way of excusing poor Dedalus. He left prompt enough to ask him, and I made to approach the girl who was still waiting and watching.

We'd been expecting her, of course, this brilliant if not fresh auror who'd been invited by way of Kingsley's good word. And Mad-Eye, who bless his heart would never fully remove himself from the affairs of the auror's office, knew well of her too, and had a glassy sort of gaze when he got to speaking of her, which was uncharacteristic of Mad-Eye, and therefore recommendation enough that the Order of the Phoenix should welcome her.

Her lineage too was intriguing and worth noting, though it doesn't much concern this particular tale.

But in spite of all I'd heard and been told to expect and forgive from the girl, who supposedly helped more than she hurt, so most her hurts were forgotten, I never expected the way my very breath hitched, as though it had been stolen away when her eyes lifted to meet mine.

A gift, to a certain degree - though I don't know what had led to me cultivating it - I had always managed a mask of sorts for my emotions. And never before had I been so thankful for it, that outwardly I remained the calm and studious Remus Lupin whilst inside I was a man turned on his ear. All I knew just then was that I didn't know enough, and that I would not, _could_ not, rest until more had been learned about this vibrant vision.

"They're not as frightening as they look," I tell her with a smile.

"You're probably just saying that," She laughs, and I swear her laughter sounds like a stream in the ears of a man dying in the desert. "And even if they were, I think I could take 'em, with just one ally." She holds out her hand. "Nymphadora Tonks, but in case Kinglsey hasn't warned you enough, it's just 'Tonks' if you please." I took her hand. "You'll learn quick enough if I need to remind you," she adds with a coy smile.

Her touch, had I been a more romantic man, may have been said to thrill me. I only knew then that I wanted to hold her hand longer than appropriate. Forever? If she'd let me? But the moment passed, her hand fell to the side.

"I know it would certainly seem inappropriate to say, but all of this is rather exciting, don't you think?" she asked me. "And rather heartwarming too, that we may rise up together when occasion calls? Give that bastard one for, eh?"

And I laughed at her darling enthusiasm.

"Well, it's not as bad yet as it was," I tell her, and I'm not quite sure if I'm bragging. "I remember the excitement well enough though."

"It makes me want to get out, to move," she says with a crinkle of her upturned nose. "I'm not a fab enough hand as an auror yet for them to let me do much field. Mostly information what for my morphing. It's more a blessing than anything that I can morph after all; failure would be mine if I had ever to rely on polyjuice - I'm rubbish at potions, you see."

"I'm far from calling myself a master, as well," I admit. "And it's a shame, for it proves more often that I care for that I end up needing one."

"What for?" she asks, and I knew then it would have been better that I said nothing at all.

But she will have to find out sooner or later, if she doesn't know already.

Still, I was proficient in averting this discussion. I should be after all these years. "This and that," was all I said. "I count myself lucky, I never had a profession that put much stock into it."

"Oh, how rude, what do you do?"

"Well, Miss Tonks -"

She held up her hand. "No 'Miss', no 'Nymphadora', no 'Nymphadora Tonks'. Just 'Tonks'."

"Well, Tonks," I tried with slight difficulty. This lovely creature a 'Tonks'? It was fitting, yet I desired more for her. "My last employment was at Hogwarts: Defense Against the Dark Arts post."

"You don't say!" Her eyes lit up. "Now, I don't like to speak poorly of Hogwarts, but that particular post, it's rubbish. Important class and all, useful material, but they can't hold a blasted teacher! You heard what happened to Mad-Eye last year? Some sort of scandal the year before that - I can't remember, that was the year we were all hopped up on Sirius, but I remember being unimpressed; it didn't seem like a big deal. Wasn't Lockhart a mess too, maybe? This was all after my time mind you, but we had a new one each year just the same. You wouldn't believe some of the fool things that happened: some bloke named Finnegan from my third year. He blew himself up to bits, ironically showing us how to defend our backfiring spells. Hear it runs in the family though. The man had a sister and a nephew who I hear are on the lists in the Accidental Reversal squad near every month!"

"Tonks, if Finnegan was your third year, you can't be more than twenty-three!"

"Twenty-two next month," she corrects me.

"We knew you were young for all you'd accomplished in the ministry. But that is," I stammer, "rather young."

"Luck," she tells me. "Nothing more: right place right time, all that."

My, but she was young! Too young to think about. Borderline too young to dream about. A new wave of guilt washed over me, for fancying this young girl, still so fresh, still so whole. What claim could I, tired and broken, hold?

"But then, when did you teach?" and a charming blush crept up into her cheeks. "I'm so sorry, I've only just realized I never caught your name?" she held out her hand for a second shake.

"Remus Lupin," I tell her after a moment's hesitation. Her now knowing had the charm that she would yet speak openly. She would not fear the monster she had certainly heard of.

"Remus," she says, smiling and shaking my hand. Were I younger then, I'm sure my knees would have buckled. "Now, when did you teach?" but then a wave of recognition flooded her face to join the blush. "Merlin, I remember now! That unimpressive scandal was you two years ago! Now, what didn't you say something? But then, it was me. I do have manners, I _do_! It's just, I so seldom remember to use them."

Here we both realized out hands were still linked, and it was time we both blushed. "Just what was the problem?" she asked. "I still cannot recall."

"You see," I tried, "I am a werewolf."

"Yes, yes, that was it!" she nudged my shoulder. "Ruddy gits, imagine them getting worked up and sacking you for something like that." she laughed. "But they'll keep Snape around after all these years."

"He's bound to show up any moment now," I say, noting the time. "Get your digs in now."

"Be careful," she warned, "I will, if you let me." But then the option wasn't to be left with me, for the meeting was called to order, and we all flooded into the kitchen.

"I'm glad to have met you, Remus Lupin," she said as she took a seat beside me.

I cannot even now recall that night's meeting. The one which had occurred before in the parlor had been far more momentous. Instead of listening to Dumbledore, I allowed my mind to consider, among other things, that entrancing scent coming from this alluring Nymphadora - she mayn't prefer it, but in my mind she would always have her given name. It was at first a flora aroma, and then something I couldn't peg, though I racked my brain. My, but that it drove me mad.

Yet, I also considered her reaction. Or rather, her lack of any sort of one. Betimes, even when people wished to remain cordial and kind, there was always a look in their eyes - quite the same look. Uncertainty, fear, distrust. Wariness, more than anything.

Yet this Nymphadora hadn't budged. She'd been as constant as any star. Ah, with every move that night, she entrapped me indeed forevermore.

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What a fool I'd been, to weep within myself, mourning the loss of a love I never deserved. It would not be the first time I realized my own folly, and everyone knows it would not be the last, but to have her in my room, here in my arms, I suddenly wondered why I couldn't have her if she wanted me? Why had I not allowed myself to care?

"-It's just that," she told me, with our foreheads pressed together, her eyes turned demurely downward, "the way that I feel when you're around, is so much better than the way that I feel when you aren't." Could any higher being have crafted such a flawless speech? I felt her holding her breath, waiting for an answer.

"Nymphadora," I began. She didn't even twitch. I couldn't remember then just when she'd let me use her first name, but as far as I know, I was the only one granted the privilege. "I like too many things about you to list them as you have," she look up to me with hopeful eyes. "But," and I could see the light dim on her face with that simple word, "I am far too old, too poor, too dangerous." It would become my pathetic catchphrase - every bit of it true, every bit of it eventually overcome. "There is someone young and stable and safe for you to find." I meant this. So then why couldn't I loosen my hold on her waist?

"Remus, if you don't want me, you need to say so. But it needs to be because of _me_. Because I don't suit you," she responded sternly. "Not because you think you don't suit me. I know you do. Perfectly"

Her hand rose to hold my face, and I fell into the small touch. Powers that be, there could be no defeating this woman. And I would not lie to her.

"If anyone could suit me more, I cannot dream of her," I leaned to kiss her, and this time I determined not to pull away. What was I so afraid of, Sirius had asked? That Nymphadora Tonks, a lady of light and laughter, really could banish all the darkness from the crevasses of my mind. That such divine happiness was not worthy of my kind.

But she loved the man. What of the beast when the man had her love to care for?

My hesitance lingered even as she bent me back onto the bed. Though my grip held, my hands did not wander. She had to initiate, for I would not sully her youth and exuberance without her being certain. And after her coaxing, we made love that night.

Just before, she stood, and muttered timidly that she should like to be in her natural form. It was a romantic sort of idea, and I posed no objections.

As she morphed, I saw she was a wispy figure, with long legs and arms, but surprisingly graceful hands. Her hair was long and held a wave as though fashioned from plaits. It was as darks as could be imagined, but her eyes shone amber. She was beautiful, the delicate upturned nose and full red lips being distinctly her own, but the alabaster hue of her skin and the certain set jaw were strait from her blood in the Black family. It was no wonder Sirius thought her lovely - she resembled him enough.

And yet her eyes sparkled and shone with a love which frightened me anew. How could this dazzling creature possibly care?

She waved her wand to all but dim the lights, and rid herself of her jumper before joining me once more on the bed. I cannot recall how many times that night I muttered of her beauty. Neither am I sure of what she said when she saw my scars. She mayn't have said anything at all. It would have been just like her.

All I know is when I entered her at last, she whispered my name, and cupped bother hands around my face. I saw a tear escape her eye, and asked brokenly if I'd hurt her. "Of course not," she said with her sass. "I'm sorry to be so sentimental. Bosh, I'd like to call it. I'm just so happy, Remus." I kissed her tears away, and together we traveled into the night.

After all was said and done, she lay in my arms in a nightshirt of mine I'd made her wear when she shivered. Through the darkness, I heard her voice whisper, unusually soft "I have some scars too, you know."

"Real ones?"

She laughs, "Of course real ones! Here," she morphs, and takes my hand to place it on her shoulder. I feel it on the blade, tired scar issue, which extends down onto her back, and up slightly towards her neck.

"That was from the blasted Lilac Incident," she tells me. "Mum's potion case was mostly glass." She moves my hand to her left knee. "And this," she says as I feel it's much smaller, extending only as far as her calf, "was from a fool quidditch accident in school, some holiday where we were young, and therefore paid no good attention."

"Some things never change," I chuckled.

"See, another thing we have in common." But that remark hurts. I don't wish these scars upon her so we may by similar. I don't wish any pain for her. She doesn't deserve it.

She turns and leans into me. "You need to stop thinking I am so flawless." I feel her smile on my shoulder. "As flattering as it is, I am far from it."

"You are whole," I remind her. "And these scars can morph away. You can forget, for a time, the pain brought from or with them."

I feel her reach for my hand again. This time she leads it past her shirt, just at her ribcage, and I feel a dip of scar tissue there, about an inch along leading to her side.

"When I was nine years old, my mother was cooking supper when she had to leave to answer the door. She asked me to mind the stove, and me being - well, _me_" she laughed, "I spilt the entire ruddy pot on myself. If this wasn't so bad, the visitors my mother had let in had brought with them their bloody kneazle breed, who smelt the stew and saw me tearfully coated in the boiling mess - bit as much as he could out of me. Skin's far too damaged here, and has never morphed since." She let my hand fall back. "I'm lucky it was such a manageable spot: my line of infiltration has yet to require I flash my ribs about."

"I'm sorry -"

"You didn't know, and you don't need to be," she leans up to kiss me. Could any man deserve this woman? Least of all, me?

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I awoke with the morning sun shining through my drapes over Nymphadora's sleeping form. The night had been cold, but holding each other, we hadn't minded. While my mind tried to tally the night's events, I tried to force myself to stop thinking, only to enjoy this moment as the moment that it was.

She stirred, and shook her head a bit, opening her eyes to meet mine, and saying nothing, but delicately rising to meet me for a kiss. She noted the time, and rose, tossing my nightshirt and searching for her own clothes which were strewn about. "I hate to leave; I have to shower before work," she tried explaining.

"Nymphadora?"

"Remus?"

Here it was, that dreaded moment. I donned my trousers, and stood beside her, a hand on her shoulder. "I go back underground soon. You know, we're never sure for just how long."

At my words, her square jaw and black hair disappeared. She shrunk in some places, grew in others, and before me stood the pink-haired, heart-faced girl who had so easily taken over me. But her eyes which had held inexplicable happiness just seconds before held heartbreaking sadness.

"Nymphadora -"

"Tonks!" she held up her hand firmly, though her voice was soft and steady. "And you needn't worry, Remus. I don't expect anything."

She turned to leave; my hand held her arm just as she grabbed the door. "Listen to me," I begged.

"I really must be going." She almost made it out, turned to kiss me a final time, and amended her statement. "I don't expect anything, _yet_." but her eyes were still sad.

And I am so lost for words. And I am so overwhelmed. She doesn't shut the door, and I hear the pop of her disapparation and her quickly vanishing form seemed to be wiping away ashamed tears.

"Rough night?" I hear from down the hall. It's Sirius, who looks as carefree as he ever has, but there is a lingering in his words as though he is afraid. Probably afraid that I've hurt Nymphadora. Which I have! In my carelessness and my own rash behavior, which seemed unimportant in the eve, protected by night's dark and snowfall, but which here in morning, the unrelenting feel of the sun even in Grimmauld Place, seems just what it is: selfish. I was so terribly selfish to give in to all my heart has ever seemed to desire, knowing full and well the costs of binding her to me.

A wise man would have denied her that very first day she asked for a kiss. After her usual cheek, but her nervousness shone through and my mind tore in two, begging to answer her request, begging for the strength to run, and both sides won. It probably did the most damage.

A wise man would have sent her away the night before. A young, beautiful woman in your room? She could not be blamed for thinking he was agreeing.

And, well, wasn't I? Was it not a night to be forever burned into my mind, to remember with that combination of ecstasy and guilt I've come to associate with Nymphadora where myself is concerned. I doubt even in the darkest hours, where the beast has banished all semblance of the man from my consciousness would I be able to forget the satin feel of her skin, the gentle moan my mouth on her breast brought forth from her, the tingle my skin crawled with while her hands heatedly traced the scars on my back and chest. No, I couldn't forget, even during those terrible nights when my bones would be breaking and the world would gather and collapse around my eyes until I saw then only things to destroy, the smell of her hair when I fell on top of her, or the love which had so forcefully fallen out of her eyes as I watched her reach her peak, or the sweetness of her kisses when we lay together afterwards, all thought of a morning feeling impossible or unnecessary.

"No, wonderful night," I told him. "Rough morning, though."

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Outwardly, nothing had changed. Nymphadora smiled in public as much as ever, still hung around Grimmauld Place before, after, and between meetings, still performed remarkably at work, still behaved her amusing and bold persona.

I ought to have been pleased; at the very least she did not appear to be hurt. Those months were the only real chance I ever stood of losing her. When I came back in May from living amongst the werewolves, a man more tired and roughened than ever, I saw a girl as inversely fresh and bright as could have been imagined, and I thought - hoped? - feared? - that she had forgotten.

I should have known better.

But she wouldn't talk about it, and I wouldn't dare push her. A breezy evening saw us - Nymphadora, Kingsley, Mad-Eye, Bill and myself - leaving the Hog's Head. Aberforth had been as gruff as usual, but we had managed to work out some troubling details on the matter of prophecy protection; we had begun to fear how long we would be able to keep the whole thing up. This was all beside the point.

In the alleyway about to apparate, we met with three Death Eaters. Young, unorganized chippies, no doubt hoping to gain favor with You-Know-Who, but having no real abilities, and therefore no real hope of taking our skilled group out. But they did create a lot of smoke and a lot of noise. Enough to worry us. Enough to worry Nymphadora.

We hadn't managed a grasp on any of them, and they all disapparated when they realized they stood no chance of winning. A final blast knocked the side of an old shop down, falling with more dust and wreckage than was really worth the damage. From the angle at which it fell, I suppose it would have looked to be straight on top of me, but I was in no real danger. A step to the left is all.

"Remus!" I heard, with sickening terror I wished never to hear again. I saw a flash of aquamarine - Nymphadora's choice of hair for this day, long and straight - before noticing she had her arms around my neck, warmth and intimacy which she had not allowed in my direction since that night.

"I'm alright, Tonks," I told her, reluctantly using the name she warned me was my right. "I'm alright." But I saw her crying.

Later that evening, after the proper owls had been sent and all the right people informed, I sat by the fire in one of Grimmauld Place's many parlors. There was a book in my hand, but I didn't see the words. The open window offered a gust, but the scent of lilac from the doorway caught my attention. "I'm sorry for playing the fool today." she muttered.

"You fought brilliantly," I told her.

"But I lost it at the end." she entered, but remained standing. I stood to join her. "It won't happen again. I can focus, despite my -" she paused, and for a moment looked sick, "sentiments."

"Sentiments are not of an evil," I assured her kindly. "I'm not sure you understand -"

"Don't think I don't understand, Remus," she cut me off. "I understand full and well, a right sight better than you think I do." Her eyes trembled, hitching with her breath. "I'm more ashamed than I can say. To come to you bare, as myself being able to offer only myself. I've had other men, Remus, and I suppose between those blokes I must've fancied some of them. But I've certainly never cared for another person as I do for you. And to tell you and be struck down - not even that I was struck down, but that you actually made me believe we were of the same mind with these absurd sentiments! - to try to distance from that, and then behave as I did today. It's humiliating, Remus. As childish as it is to say, I was humiliated when faced with the fact that you know full and well I would be yours but for the asking, and you still had scoffed at the idea. And to have you away all these months! To have the world around me awakening with spring anew while my world remained cold. To have no one to tell of my sufferings because you were so ashamed of our union of a single winter's night? If something were to happen to you, I would have no claim to grieve as more than a friend and colleague. Not as the girl who wished desperately for the first time in her life to give you everything. To be loved as Nymphadora, rather than shagged as Tonks."

"And on the other hand, this has been easy for me?" I asked; snapped rather. She took less than half a step back, surprised no doubt by the fight in my words. I may have imagined, but I think I saw a small flash of pride cross her face before it was covered again by her annoyance. "I could never tell you the pain of going months, knowing you hated me. If there is any curse greater than you loving me, it is your scorn."

"I'm sorry to burden you so with my feelings."

"I could never help but love you," I admitted. "But was there nothing you could have dome to stop yourself from loving me?"

"Too early seen unknown, and known too late," she shrugged.

I smiled; our muggle fathers wouldn't let us forget their form of classics. "Do you mean then that I am your only hate?"

"I mean if we aren't careful, we'll be each other's undoing."

We heard from below the clutter and clamor of the meeting. She put on a believable smile to all outward eyes, and left the room. She thought she had settled matters. She thought that by mentioning she would not allow her emotions to be exposed as they were today after the fight that I would be safe from their existence. She did not know what her admitting she still loved me did to me. It made me crave her more. It made me regret, before my senses returned to me, having severed us months before. It made me go to her flat that night.

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"I thought you said you were too old?" she asked with her eyebrow in it's characteristic raise.

"I don't care." I told her, my lips moving from hers to her cheek.

"Too poor?"

"I don't care." to her ear now; a nip at the lobe.

"Too dangerous?"

"I don't care." I had dipped into her neck.

She lifted my chin and held my gaze. "Will you still feel that way in the morning?"

"Merlin, Nymphadora, I hope so." I growled, digging my hands into her waist, and pressing her nearer to the wall in her entryway. The warm night warranted the cool breeze from her window's, and when I pull her vibrant jumper over her head, I see gooseflesh on her arms from either the chill or the excitement or both.

We've been here before, even if it was only once, on a cold winter's night, in a different setting, with different fears. We've both repeated that night in our minds so often - we're both well prepared for this night.

Her skin seemed to dance below my touch, her body appearing to shy from me into the wall, but her lips pressing earnestly to mine, and her hands gripping my shoulders as though to be sure I'm still with her.

_You have nothing to fear, Nymphadora, _I thought. _I'm not leaving you tonight. There's no way I'm leaving you tonight._

A moan escapes her when I leave her lips to again dip into her neck. It's an exquisite sound. The beast within me roars in triumph at having gotten such a sound from her, but I know with any luck she'll be making many more and others like it in the moments to come.

I lift her and her legs wrap around my waist while I head down her hall to her bedroom. I whisper in her soft hair, which is, at this moment, crimson. "Let me see you, Nymphadora." When I set her down on her bed, it's her amber eyes staring up at me surrounded by her raven black hair. Her full lips smile, and her square chin shakes before she mutters a soft plea and brings my hands to her breasts.

We lay together afterwards, hoping for an endless night. Fearing, in spite of ourselves, the morning. Hoping that it brings no changes, hoping that our arms are both still open when the sun rises. Or at the very least, hoping for an endless night. Hoping to forever be wrapped in the safety of the witching hour.

We lay wrapped together and entangled within her sheets. They smell of her, if not amplified. Her fingers lazily trace the scars on my face, and one could almost believe in that moment that they were healing. "I know it's stupid," she whispers, "but I cannot get used to 'Nymphadora'. What kind of batty mood was my mother in when she chose to burden me?"

I laugh and kiss her forehead at her words. "It means 'gift from the nymphs' or as though a 'magical gift'. You can't forgive her for thinking so highly of you?"

"No!" she laughs. "And you would agree if your own name did not suit you."

"Nymphadora suits you well," I assure her. "We may shorten it, if you prefer. Simply a 'gift'? Dora?"

She sits up, and smiles pleased. "That I can do." She kisses me warmly, and warns "But only you shall call me that. I don't want to hear it pass any other lips." I promise her and she lays back down on my chest. "Will you stay with me tomorrow?"

"You don't have work?"

She shakes her head. "No, and no errands or plans short of being with you."

It is such a tempting thought! "All day?"

She laughs. "Of course! Haven't you ever simply spent a day in bed? Spent a day in your lover's arms? I can brew you some tea later, if you wish it. I have toast and jam in we get hungry." She sits up again and kisses me, before continuing. "But we won't have to do anything unless we want to. We won't send any owls. We won't wait on any other people. We'll make love when we wish, for as long as we wish, we'll rest when we're tired, and we'll do our best to make this an endless night. At least until the next night, if we can."

I can't agree quick enough to such a day. I answer by turning her onto her back, returning her kisses, my hands moving along her soft, warm, bare sides. My lips soon follow my hands, kissing, tracing, nipping, adoring every inch of her I can manage while she squirms below me, inviting my touch and sighing so contented my heart swells.

She grips the sheets when my mouth meets her center. And the cry on her lips is my name, dripping both with desire and affection. Already, I could never forget her. Or these moments. But I built up the memories nonetheless. I catalogued them for later, just in case the endless night found an end. Just in case morning brought all my worries back. Just in case I broke Dora's heart again, and was forced to face saying goodbye to this sweet perfection, this glory and bliss to be found in holding her, in having her, in allowing myself to care.

"In spite of myself, I do love you. Very much." I tell her in later years when she begs me to tell her what ultimately changed my mind.

"That's always the way of things, isn't it?" she laughed. "I'd be afraid to see the state of the world if we all _tried _to love each other."


	3. Chapter 3

No doubt, waking up in a hospital is terrifying enough. Being unable to remember just how you got there? It's only that much worse.

All I knew was the scent of St. Mungo's was overwhelming; that, and my ruddy lilacs. Damn them! I'd hate that smell clogging my nostrils all my days, but now with no distractions it's just reminding me harshly that I'm in an empty hospital room with no memory past dueling that Lestrange cousin of mine in the Department of Mysteries. Trying to wrack my brain is giving me a headache and bugger I find when trying to rub my temple that I can't lift my arms. Trying again I find that they are simply tired – I can move them but the limbs feel heavy.

My hair brushes into my face and I see that it's lavender. This helps me remember a bit of the battle, my hair flying about anyways. Ringlet curls. I think I had been shorter, too, which wasn't helping any except to dodge and offer a smaller target. With a bit of effort I sit up against my headboard. But I am not expecting this sight.

On the floor surrounding me: bodies. Faceless bodies. And Sirius on top, the ghost on his face smiling, the light gone from his eyes. I turn in horror, where Remus is bleeding from all the old scars and wounds. I try to reach for him but he transforms into his monthly burden, the light of the moon seeming to come from Sirius's haunting grin. Remus runs from me, and I scream in terror.

No doubt, waking up in a hospital is terrifying enough. Still not knowing how you got there, or if you're _really_ waking up this time? It's only that much worse.

But I'm not alone this time, and with Remus holding my hand I feel more assured in this reality.

He's sitting in a chair beside my hospital bed, and I mustn't have been screaming of thrashing from the nightmare because he seems to have dozed off, his grip still firm, however. Damn him. Even in sleep he looks more broken than ever. He is weary, and I used to think I knew how to cure that. I'm not enough; clearly.

When he stirs there are tears in his eyes, but he looks relieved at least to see that I am awake. "How are you, Dora?" He asks me.

I try to croak out that I don't know, but my voice is faint. There's obviously not much wrong with me, but there is just enough to worry him.

"What do you remember?"

I shake my head, trying to imply _not much_, and I think he understands. "Harry?" I manage to ask, faintly.

He nodded, "All the children are alright. Ron had a nasty tangle with some brains – scars are the worst of it."

"Good," I sigh. "We keep any of them?"

"The whole lot besides Voldemort and Mrs. Lestrange," he nodded again. "They're in Azkaban."

"So we won?"

"Ultimately," but his eyes were sad.

"What aren't you telling me, Remus?"

His voice choked and he stood with tears about to spill. "Sirius," he said. And he couldn't have said more if I wanted him to. He stepped away towards the door and muttered an apology before leaving the room. I was glad, because I didn't want him to see my cry, but then I also noticed the pressing loneliness of the room, and my hand felt strange and empty, as if for the first time in the days since the battle, he'd left it unheld.

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I should have known better than to push him. Even if he had managed to forget what the next day was, I didn't, and I should have said something. But he was there – bloody buggering fuck, he was in my bed.

And I was too afraid to let him leave, too afraid that if I did he'd remember. Remember that I'm clumsy, or that I'm rubbish at household spells, or that he's so much more than I can ever hope to be. Remember whatever it was that he remembered the last time when he rejected me so thoroughly. His damn pride? No, it isn't as though he thinks too highly of himself, rather that he thinks he is doing some brave, noble act, saving myself from caring for him.

Maybe it was foolish. And maybe it was childish. And maybe it was just plain stupid. Maybe, also, I've grown past it.

It had been a perfect day.

It had been warm, his hands always near mine. Buggar, if my head never left his chest, you'd hear no complaint from me. His soft breath tickled my neck. We had been dozing. I craned my neck up to glance at the clock on my shelf, and attempted not to wake him through this. I am allowing myself to brag, because after seeing that it was only half past seven in the morning, I laid back down and Remus was none the wiser. Who said I can't be graceful when the occasion calls?

I think I had just been starting to doze again when I heard the tapping at my window. Blasted owls! I jumped up to let the bird in, where it gave me a _Prophet_. I turned back to see Remus still half asleep. Damn—maybe I had worn the man out too much. My grin was devilish; even I have to admit, with just that cheeky thought. Then again, I reminded myself, I still had all day. And it was going to be such a perfect day.

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I stood in the hallway of Grimmauld Place, second floor, it was musty as ever. You'd think we did nothing the past year, but I remember blistering my hands for Molly – and the hallways were still musty.

It didn't matter. It didn't matter then because Sirius didn't care either way, and it doesn't matter now because he's dead.

As blunt as that was, it was true. And it was why I stood in the musty hallways outside of his door. Afraid to go in. Afraid of invading the privacy of a dead man who cared nothing for privacy when he was alive? Who would have begged for someone to press his buttons if the thought had occurred to him, or if he even had any buttons to press? Yes, I was petrified of that.

And I'd been in the room countless times when he was alive. How many times over the last year did we sit in there, firewhisky at the ready if needed, talking of nothing in particular? Hadn't we both sat there, missing Remus terribly while he was underground, but both for pride's sake and for the sake of the other, not daring to say his name? So why couldn't I go in there now? Why was I afraid now?

There was shuffling, and I turned around to see the tail end of a brown, ragged coat turning the corner. Remus's voice trailed in what might have been a breeze, had there been a breeze, apologizing. How long had he been there before I noticed him leave? Had he wanted to go into Sirius's room too, before he saw me there? As uncharacteristic of me as it gets, seeing him go and knowing full and well that he wasn't going to be there to comfort me, and knowing equally as well that there was no comfort to be found on the other side of the door either, I leaned my head against the wood and wept.

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He groaned at the sound of the second owl. I jumped up just the same as the first one, and saw it place a letter by my desk. Remus sat up, rubbed his eyes, and then walked slowly to my washroom. Looking at the names on the envelope, I saw that it was from work. They wanted me in that day. And for nearly anyone else, I would have gone. I don't skive off work – but I had promised Remus a perfect day. And if he got it, well then, I had a chance at him loving me. So when I heard his footsteps approaching, I buried the letter casually among the other papers on the desk.

"What'd the owl bring?" he asked, his voice still sleepy, his arms now around my waist, his head resting on my shoulder, face buried in the crook of my neck.

"_Prophet_" I lied, holding up the bundle from before, and offering it to him. He shook his head and directed my hand back down.

Then I felt his lips on my neck. Merlin, this man was the perfection even I who never often dreamt before had dreamt about.

He had come to me last night. And he had promised to say with me today. Was it possible? Could he love me? His hands on my side told me 'yes'. The circles he traced on my hips told me 'yes'. When he turned me around to face him, and his eyes met mine, they told me 'yes'. And all the doubt in the world, all the fear I could muster, flooded into me. Here it was, before me: all that I wanted. Remus here to love me, Remus allowing himself to love me, Remus _wanting_ to love me! What had been fought against, and fought for, and it was all mine for the taking. And I was frightened.

He might have noticed the fear in my eyes, or how my spine had instantly stiffened, if it hadn't been the same moment that he brought his lips down to meet mine. Because then my eyes fluttered closed, and he couldn't see the fear. Because then my spine trembled in his grasp, and my body fell into his. The fear disappeared for the moment, because this was going to be a perfect day.

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I felt broken. Damn, I was broken. The limp, brown hair falling over my eyes told me as much. Sitting in the kitchen of The Burrow I was only acutely aware of the fact that I'd been silent for hours now. And I couldn't even muster the energy to be concerned.

My thoughts were choppy now; full memories came to me only in episodes, bits at a time, though they were all stored safely enough somewhere within me. I was slower to reactions now, useless in my line of work. I was reserved, reclusive. Even my vocabulary had been stricken of colorful vulgarity; I could not remember the last time I exclaimed 'Buggar!' or the likes, and even my 'wotcher' was weak and hollow. Surely this had not gone unnoticed; people had even tried to ask me about the changes. I had no heart to tell them – better they believe what they will. Better they feel no pressure to understand that which I don't understand myself.

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"You can't really think he's forgotten you?" Sirius smirked. "I assure you, we are an unforgettable family."

"Well, perhaps I simply don't have your staying power," I shot back, in no mood for his cheek today. Remus had returned from being underground, had been back for months now, and would not look me in the eye. I tried, Merlin knows, I tried not to let it hurt. But it did more than anything.

"I doubt that," he chuckled. "He keeps a bloody vase of lilacs on his nightstand."

I must've blushed something awful. "He does not! Why would he? Bloody awful scent as it is."

"Because it's at least a part of your scent," he laughed again. "I'll bet it keeps him smiling in his sleep to smell them."

"It wasn't my choice!" I spat. "If he wanted me by him while he slept instead of ruddy flowers, he need only ask."

"I think he knows that well enough. But it's a bit frightening, isn't it? To have so few people love and trust you to this – this little ragtag family we've all assembled. Maybe he fears it can go away as quickly as it came." He stood to leave. "Like the first one did."

"Maybe you're both mad," I shot to his back when he walked towards the door.

His barking laugh broke the room. "Maybe,"

Our last conversation ended with my flipping the bird at his back.

0000000

"You want to know a secret?" he whispered to my cheek while we rested in my bed, the sun having risen to the center of the sky, the breeze less cool than it had been as it wafted through my window, though it was still there and sweet as a midday May could offer. My eyes titled up to meet his and see how serious he was being. There was a hint of twinkle; it made me want to laugh.

"Out with it!" I demanded.

"I woke up this morning, and I didn't want to leave." He chuckled here. "So I didn't!"

"That's not a secret," I tell him with my brow raised yet a grin full. "I can see you plain as plain!"

"The secret is, I think in spite of all I was worried about, I think I _knew_ I would stay." The glimmer was still on his face, but he was growing more sincere. "I want to give myself enough credit, if I may, to think that I wouldn't put you through that again. I don't think I would have come here at all if I thought for a moment I really would leave."

"Didn't stop you from worrying."

"No," he shook his head. "No, it did not." We turned, and he pulled me closer on top of him, my hair falling around us, shielding noon from our own world. "You're telling me you weren't worried?"

"About you?" he chuckled, and nodded. "I'm always worried," I admit before I realize it. The shame that crosses my face must have convinced him of my truthfulness, because he bent forward the remaining inches and kissed me 'til the noon-hour was through.

0000000

"He comes back in a few days," I hear Molly through the haze that clutters my thoughts nowadays.

"Three," I confirm.

I notice her sitting beside me; she has a right to, I'm sitting at her bloody table after all. It's what I do more often than not. Sit. Before, I couldn't stand to sit for a moment, not a moment longer than necessary. Now if I'm not sitting, I'm looking for a good place to sit, or thinking about how long it's been since I sat down. And it's bloody pathetic! I can feel myself roaring from somewhere within that I need to stop this nonsense, but then all I do is sit. And try not to think.

"Do you have anything to say to him, dear?" she nudged.

"I don't think I do." I say honestly. "But I wish that I did. I wish I could come up with..._something_ that would patch it all, Molly. Something that would tell him I'm sorry, something that would tell him I'm ready, we're ready." I look up to her; how long has it been since I made eye-contact with somebody? "Do you understand?"

"I want to, dear," she tells me, "Just as badly, I think, as you do! But, you see, I never got the long and short of it. I know that one day you smiled, and one day you didn't."

"Last time he left he said he imagined I hated him every day." I pathetically almost chuckled. "What could he be thinking now?"

"Dear, _what happened_," she whispers tersely. It's not the first time she's asks. It's not the first of hundreds. And I should have told her ages ago. If I was to tell anyone, it would have been her. No one else could have made things clear, and no one else could have helped me in the slightest. I'm still not sure, at this point, if she can, but if not her than there is no one. And I find myself wanting to tell her. I find myself wanting to pour out all that happened, because only Sirius knew everything, and with him gone Molly could be my only saving grace.

But all I do is sit. And my already choppy thoughts grow choppier. Broken and unclear. Until they are nothing.

0000000

I don't like myself. I don't like how weak I've become. This isn't me.

But it is; it's the me that I fashioned by giving in. Giving in to what? Giving into the sorrow? The absence? It's easier to be a shell than to deal with real emotions. It's easier to let my hair turn a mousy brown than to focus enough to make it erupt pink.

Is that who I am now? I'm lazy?

Or am I simply broken.

It's laughable. And it's feeble. And it'd ridiculous.

And I'm ashamed to say that it's me.

0000000

His hand traced my ribs. He paused where the flesh dipped in the scar I showed him on that first night. He tried to continue, to make the pause go unnoticed, but I felt it. I felt the linger, and I saw the flash before his eyes.

It's a small scar; I'm not surprised that he did not notice it at first. I am, however, surprised by his hesitation, his disinclination towards its existence. But I choose to ignore it for now; he deserves his perfect day. Arguing with him over my own imperfection? No, it would not do any good.

So instead, I bring a hand up to his face, thread my fingers through his hair, and ask as delicately as I can though my throat is dry, "You hungry?"

He nods, and sits up. I grab his shirt and do up the buttons; it's just so long to keep me dressed enough. He grabs his plaid shorts and yanks on some trousers. After he sits at my table, and I peek into my icebox I remember that I really don't have any proper food. Buggar, this was a great plan of mine, eh? I spy the jam that I had promised him before, and I know I have bread to toast in the cabinet. I also find some cold chicken, and to my complete surprise I see pushed towards the back a piece of chocolate cake my Mum gave to me a few days ago. She'd gotten it from some function she'd attended with my Dad, and seeing as they don't need sweets passed it off to me. I had completely forgotten it, but Remus's chocolate fetish is unforgettable, and I'm glad to be able to do this much.

It's such a ragtag meal that I can't help but look ashamed while I'm waiting for the water to boil for tea. But, bless him, he doesn't say a thing. He could think me a child, cupboards bear, hardly a clean dish to be seen. But he doesn't say a thing, and he thanks me when I hand him his tea. He has it for hardly a second when I yank it back. "I forgot," I explain, and grab the cream and sugar. "What'll you have?"

"Two sugars, dear, no cream," he said casually enough. But my hand, which had been scooping the sugars, paused, and I forgot to blink. To so nonchalantly throw that around? – _'dear' _smack in the middle of his sentence? What was that about? What was that for at all, I ask you? I continued to stir his tea before he even noticed my pause. But it stuck with me, and my voice shook nervously when I chucked. I sat down, handed the tea back, and kissed his cheek.

This was what I wanted, wasn't it? What I wanted _desperately. _This quiet comfortableness, the random endearments, him here at my table, it was all part of what I wanted when I decided that I wanted him. Yes, I wanted it, I _want_ it! Why, then, did it frighten me? For then at this point I was terrified. It was 4:36 in our perfect day, and I was terrified.

But I couldn't let him see it. Already, I was going to lie to him? For the sake of his perfect day?

Yes, because it was such a perfect day.

0000000

The room was so empty. And then it wasn't.

"Nymphadora?" I nearly jumped out of my skin at the sound. It was probably the harshest movement I had made for months. It was, November now?

"Remus," I whispered, though my voice was still rough. The sitting room of the Burrow never felt more cluttered. And yet where were all the people who often filled these rooms? The children were at school…damn. And the adults, at work. Why had I been there? Waiting for him? Molly was in the garden.

"You don't look well," he said, pain etched on his features.

"Quite the charmer, you are," I manage, and could that possibly be the hint of a smile on my face? No, it isn't. But what would have caused it? The hope for some banter? His presence alone?

"I mean only, that you look tired." He steps closer. I can smell the autumn air on him. "And thin."

"I'm fine, Remus," I insist. It was strange. In all the months that had passed, though I hadn't been myself, I hadn't flat out lied. That, in saying I was fine, that was a lie. And then I was ashamed, and the blush showed up on my face before I could morph it away. More than ever, I was now regretting how rusty I'd gotten. But I felt something, now with him here. Was it my heart beating again? I'm not sure, but I know that the room was filled with more color than I'd seen in months, and that the crisp air felt sweet.

0000000

"He loved me," I told her at last. Molly had no reaction to my words; leastways, none that I saw. And I think it worried me.

"I know that," she said after a time. I couldn't turn to face her, but I think there was both a smile in her eyes and confusion on her face. I sometimes think that I should have looked.

"He loved me, and I was afraid."

"But you love him." And here I did look up. Molly's tone was... done in. She was fed up. I'd only just begun the story, and she had finished with me.

"I know I do," I answered shakily. My eyes were wide.

"Months, you've loved him, and spent all the while convincing him it was okay," she continued. "OH, the time's I'd spoken to him, practically shaking the man, that it was okay to love you. Sirius—" her voice broke a moment, —"Sirius put his heart and soul into making sure you two knew it was fair to love each other." And then there was an overwhelming air hanging over the table. I have been in my share of uncomfortable moments, and most of them can be claimed as my fault, but here at Molly's table, I was at a loss.

"What was the problem?" she asked again. How many times now?

"Thank you for all that," I said.

"Don't thank me," she held her hand up. "Right lot of good it did." She huffed. Molly was _huffing_. And I was sitting at her table with bird-eyes and a mouth agape.

Why was nothing making sense anymore?

0000000

"My favorite part of the day is when it gets just late enough to nap, but it's still nice and warm outside. The sun may come in through the window enough to make the room look gold. And just as your head begins to dip, you remember that you'll have to have some supper soon. You could get up to get it, but it's much nicer to continue your nap and just dream about what you'll have until you wake up again. And sometimes you doze all through the night, or at least far longer than you meant to. This leaves you with some special secret hours in the night, because the sun has fallen but the rest of the world has called it a day. So you get to lie there and think anything you want to – same as always really, only now you have no distractions at all. There's only you, and the night. And everything you do during that time will feel special. Because it's time you probably wouldn't have had, because you would have spent it sleeping. So there's a certain charm in your candle's flicker. And the air is sweeter than you were expecting. At the time you feel infinite, the time you feel shows who it is you are truer than any other. And when you've resigned yourself to finally falling back asleep, it is the most peaceful act one could imagine. You literally _fall_ asleep, tumbling gently into your dreams. When you wake up, the morning may have some bite to it, but it reminds you how lovely your afternoon, evening, and night had been. And you greet this new glorious morning, and are sure that something important is going to happen, _has_ to happen." Remus pauses at last, and chuckles softly. "That's my favorite part of the day."

And I can't help but laugh and I hope it's not unkind. "Which part?" I manage. "All I heard was a very long and very lovely description of your favorite part of the day being, well, the whole day."

"That's true," he is also laughing. "The whole thing is the best part."

"Right now is very nice too," I admit.

"Yes, this was the beginning," he looks around, and I see the amber he had mentioned. We'd been snacking all day, so his comment about supper is unimportant. If I fall asleep, I'll be dreaming of him, not of food. And I very well may fall asleep, because as I had intended, the day had been so far perfect. We're back in my bed, and he's holding me tightly. If I ever wanted more from the world, I daren't ask for it.

"I love you, Nymphadora," he whispers to my cheek. He doesn't expect an answer, I'm not even sure if he knows he's spoken, because he's tilting my face into his and his lips are searching. I want to answer him, I should answer him in some way, but I cannot manage it. He loves me. He loves me? Yes, he doesn't lie, and certainly not over this. I can feel it in his touch; I can feel it when his eyes bore into mine. He's searching now because I haven't moved. He may not have expected an answer, but he was expecting me to return the kiss. To move. To do _something_. And I haven't.

He is going to ask if I'm alright, the words are on his tongue, but I move too quickly for him. I'm standing, now a foot from my bed; how did I move so quickly? "I'm sorry."

And there, I've ruined our perfect day.

His eyes are shattering. I'm not sure what they're falling into.

I don't, I can't, say another word but grab mismatched clothes and leave him there in my room, sitting on my couch and hearing him follow me, but only after he too has dressed. "Dora," he says tentatively. "Has something happened?" but I can't answer him. No words can leave my throat, it's tight, and there may be tears trying to find their way out of my eye. I _won't_ let them.

He stands there an angled man for a few more minutes, or maybe it was all night. All I know is that I didn't move an inch, and by the time I felt how cold my shoulder was and noticed that his hand had finally left it, the sun had set. Long ago, it had set.

And he was leaving tomorrow. If he'd forgotten before, he'd certainly remember now. But I was pushing him away this time. Before – and had he really been pushing me away then? – he had not meant for things to turn sour. And this time, he had not known it was even happening. But, oh, how things were sour. And could I even explain why? Because I loved him.

And he loved me.

And it had been such a perfect day.

0000000

January, and I haven't looked him in the eye. Oh, I've looked at him plenty, but the second his head turns, mine turns the other way.

But I love him as much as ever.

And that makes me bite my nails until they bleed.

It isn't fair; I have no reason to fear this. My parents love each other immensely; I've no broken family to leave me jaded. I've lost precious few people compared to what many around me have lost. Sirius would be ashamed at my cowardice. How can Remus, so jaded a man, who took more convincing than I care to remember, be open enough to admit he loves me, and I begrudgingly only can to myself? Where is that right? Where is that fair?

We don't spend time alone together. We hardly spend time together at all. The bare requirements to do our job, and even then I can see the pain in his eyes. I've hurt him more than he wants to admit. And while we both mourned Sirius, I was selfish enough to keep him at arm's length.

He still loved me then.

He may even still love me now.

But I can't bring myself round to it.

Harry and the children return to Hogwarts soon; they provide a welcome distraction now as is. But my condition has caught even the attention of The Boy Who Lived, and with all the worries in his life it means I have been pretty palpable.

0000000

"I _do_ love him," I tell Molly.

"I know" she answers exasperated.

"Then why can't I tell him? Or anyone? Or be with him, or be happy?" and I let the tears fall. For anyone but Molly, I probably wouldn't let the tears fall, but I'm finally finding words and talking, and feeling like me again, and it feels so good, so wonderful. These tears are not altogether sad.

Molly isn't saying anything. She's just being a mother, and patting my head as it's bent over her shoulder, and wiping my tears away with her handkerchief when my head lifts.

"It's frightening to love in these times. We fight so hard for the things we want, for the things we find important, for the things we hope to have. Even if we achieve them, or sometimes just as soon as we achieve them, there is this horrible fear that it could all fall away. Or rather, that it could all be _taken _away. And some people's reaction is that it's better not to want it. If the enemy can burst through my kitchen door and take you away, is it better to think that at least Remus doesn't know you love him? No! There is no 'better' side to that situation. The only 'better' side you have is the things in life you are able to effect. A death eater blowing you to bits is not one of them. The man you love knowing what he means to you most certainly is." She's standing up now. "But then again, only if you're sure. And I think you've always been."

Molly's smiling.

I think I am too.

0000000

He's been away, but he's back now. It's late March, and the air is turning, though it isn't quite spring yet. Winter isn't quite through. Grimmauld Place mocks me, and my cowardice, but even the shadow of Sirius about the place helps. I expect him to turn the corner, in urge me to go into Remus's room. Or at least tease me until I do. But he doesn't; can't. And I'm standing before his door, not for the first time, but I am more scared than ever.

I try to knock, but no real sound comes from it. So I open the door instead, and quite like the first time he is sitting by the window. And he looks so sad I want to cry, but when he looks up to meet my eye he gets even sadder. "I'm sorry," I say before I think of anything. This time, again, I've made no plan.

"Nymphadora, I don't think you have anything to be sorry about," he says in his most professional voice – he is a teacher comforting a student. I may have failed a paper because I procrastinated, and he is telling me that he expected better, but that he doesn't doubt my next attempt will prove him right, and that there is nothing more to be said. The persona melts a little as he stands, because his shoulders slump in a way I imagine he would never display before a student. "I should never have gone to your flat."

"No!" I push in, but he's talking anyway.

"You were right in the end, even if you didn't say anything, and I was right in the beginning even if I had forgotten it." He continues. "You are young and beautiful, and whole. I am too old, too poor, too dangerous. This hasn't changed, it won't change, and even if I forgot it for a time, I will make an effort never to forget it again. In fact, I must thank you, Nymphadora, for waking me up from that beautiful dream when you did." He chuckles grimly. "We almost made quite the mistake, thinking we could be happy like that."

"But I—"

"I'm having difficulty moving past it, and you have certainly looked more vibrant. But perhaps someday we might?"

"Remus, I was a fool,"

"We are all fools in love," he quotes. "and even if you were merely infatuated, you are still excused. What I cannot excuse is the damage I did to you, Nymphadora, and I haven't begun to forgive myself for treating you so ill."

"Are you really apologizing to me, Remus?" I ask him in shock. "In this situation here, you are seriously apologizing to me for what happened?"

"Indeed," he nods. "I allowed the situation to fall out of hand, put your feelings into jeopardy, and you have been grievously hurt by my actions."

"But it was my fault."

"No, it wasn't," He isn't even looking at me anymore.

"I came to say I'm sorry," I try to tell him.

"But you have nothing to be sorry for," he insists.

"And to take it back," I add.

"Take what back?"

"I'm not sure, really," I say truthfully. "To take back what I didn't say?"

And neither of us can respond to that, because it is simply such a ridiculous statement I've made. I take this chance to really take him in though. He is tired, and I want to smooth those worries out of his forehead. I want him to hold me again; my fingertips ache and burn to trace his scars again. It's been so long.

"My patronus changed." I tell him, because I still can't say the words, however true they are.

"Please, Nymphadora," is all he says, voice broken and eyes down. The door is still open, and he's looking towards it, though he is too much of a gentleman to actually ask me to leave. So I save him the trouble.

We never were less than three feet from each other. But I could still catch his scent. It was enough to leave me weak.

0000000

"But she wants you," Molly urged, the tears almost dry on her face. Maybe new ones were going to fall soon; her eyes still looked tired and sad.

I was one to talk; never mind how I looked in that moment. Battle worn, too skinny to morph any meat on my bones, dull brown hair. Open wounds, debris on my clothes. Hollow eyes. The hospital wing of Hogwarts has never felt so small, but then it has probably never been so full.

And I stood before this perfect man, and asked him to love me? How could he; why would he?

But, no, it wasn't that he was perfect. He had the same battle worn look. The same tired body, the same bent back. And I'd never seen such torn eyes. Why couldn't he choose one path – love me or let me suffer if he didn't want me. But to keep me waiting?

He took a step forward.

In spite of myself, I took one back.

0000000

I'd left the hospital wing in what could only be described as a huff. But I'm only angry at myself. And if I'm to have a meltdown, I am _not_ going to have one in front of all my friends and colleagues. I'm trying to throw everything into perspective. Dumbledore is dead. Bill is wounded, though not fatally, and he will have 'wolfish tendencies'. These two facts, more than any other of the night, should affect me. And they do!

We've lost so many. Dumbledore – could he really die? He was as human as any of us. We know that now more than ever. But it could have been me, or it could have been Remus. And we've both been such fools. From the beginning! And every blasted step along the way.

Then Fleur makes that ridiculous display of honest loyalty, fealty, and love. Why is it accepted from her? Because she is more beautiful than I? Because Bill will not be a full werewolf? None of it should matter, the situations are similar enough.

And I'm still in the boat I've been in all along. Remus's for the asking, the moment he'll have me. It sounds pathetic when laid out like that, but it is the bare truth. All he needs to do is ask.

"Nymphadora?" I hear.

Remus has me against the wall before I know it's him. And, yes, it's every bit as steamy as it sounds. There was a moment before I was even sure what to do or what to say, when I was filled with an overwhelming fear. What if this was simply a repeat of all the times before? With one hand by my face against the wall, his other hand traced my jaw. I could feel his touch smear the trail of blood that came from a gash just to the right side of my chin. I wanted to think straight, I did, but he was just so close!

"You'll change your mind," I whispered.

"Now you're trying to talk me out of this?" he chuckled.

"I love you," my voice shook.

I couldn't place the emotion in his eyes then. Maybe there isn't a word for it. Maybe it's the white light of emotion: what you get when you mix all of them together.

All I remember is his lips on mine. I could feel my hair erupt into its bubblegum pink.


	4. Chapter 4

_**A/N:**_

_**I had a difficult time rounding out this third chapter – in many ways the end of chapter two was a much better ending. But it was May of Harry's fifth year. And everyone knows following the Battle at the Department of Mysteries, Tonks falls into a depression caused by the combined efforts of Sirius's death and Remus's distance. But I couldn't reconcile it.**_

_**Tonks and Lupin are never 'together' until the Battle of the Astronomy Tower, or the death of Dumbledore, prompted in large part by Greyback's attack on Bill and Fleur's resolve to love him anyways. So, you see, I had a duty despite having set them up so nicely for their May-day-in-bed, to fuck things up and delay them at least another year. For the good of cannon.**_

_**But that's a long time, that year, and there's no denying this couple is meant to be! So what could possibly keep them busy, keep them in character, and keep them entertaining, because let's face it, my ultimate goal is to be entertaining to you.**_

_**So I faced adding more chapters? No, I'd have to dive into Lupin's mind again. And his is my favorite, doubtless, so I feared delving in there again, at the risk of never coming out. I think you can feel why chapter two is the best one, because I understand Remus. His thoughts flow from my pen with ease. Hermione, a worn down Harry – I identify with their tiredness. Ron, Ginny, Tonks? They're alive, they're free, and they feel far more raw emotions than I myself am used to. It's not so far as having to force them, but their sights indeed take near twice as long. Because I'll write a lovely passage for Tonks to be thinking of Remus, and look back and think "Bloody Hell, did she age 40 years between paragraphs?" I have to go colloquialise her, give her real thoughts, real sentiments. Because Remus can deal with fancy, he needs it to escape. What does Tonks have to escape? She's a lady of laughter and light.**_

_**So I settled on a Tonks sandwich. A chapter for her, one for Remus, then Tonks again to round it out. And in spite of this, I always knew I wanted Remus to narrate their first meeting, because he would notice the significance. But their love crept up on Tonks – she had no idea until she was head over feet. For her it would have been just another introduction, and I certainly didn't want that.**_

_**And as long as it took me to play out the final chapter, as different as Tonks reads in her depression, as choppy as the scenes are because of her distraction, it lead me, I fear, nowhere. I am terribly displeased with this ending. And yet, I can't not post it. Perhaps someday I'll be able to reconcile it. Until then, please accept my apologies, and read only until chapter 2 in the future if you desire, because to me that was the best chapter of this whole fic.**_

_**Maybe someday I'll get Tonks right..**_

_**But ultimately, I hope that despite the ending, you have enjoyed **_**Have You Ever Wished for an Endless Night?**


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